


Art

by rockboys



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Porn, Pretentious, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:23:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockboys/pseuds/rockboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fic (just over 600 words) about how Erik sees Charles. A bit flowery, but they do the do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art

Erik decided that Charles was like art. Every inch of him created with precision and purpose to become something more than his parts.  
  
His skin was like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted over with sweeping glances and languid arms and red-lipped kisses. Charles’ hands were like marble: they looked so soft and were smooth to the touch but they could be strong too - hard and resilient. Sometimes Erik thought they might be asking what to do; what to be, like a block of uncarved marble waiting to become something new.  
  
His eyes were the murky blue of cloudy afternoon skies just before the grey takes over and the rain pours down. A blue which hinted at sadness, but spoke more loudly of need and desperation and hunger for safety. Erik would give him that – safety – with strong hands wrapped around soft thighs and holding Charles’ head close to his bare chest.  
  
When Charles smiled his eyes lightened to a blue which reminded Erik of clear water - he had only seen the ocean twice. This blue was rare, but it was beautiful, and it could be so passionate Erik wondered if it would ever be tamed. The ambrosia of his lips when he was kissed hot and hard on the mouth was like nothing Erik had ever tasted. The smooth pink skin there reddened and puckered, asking for more.  
  
Erik revered Charles and, although he knew he was perfect, every time they fucked it felt like he was taking something. He felt like he was stealing part of something special that wasn’t for him; that he didn’t deserve.  
  
Charles moved under the sheets letting them drape over his hips like he was a Renaissance fresco. The lines of his legs curved an invitation to Erik, asking to be touched; to be moved and moulded; to be made something of. Erik’s lips pressed to the softest part of Charles’ neck, making a tingle spread its way across Charles’ skin, ripples in a pool of want and desire. His languid hands skimmed over skin which moved to the rhythm of baited breaths.  
  
Charles’ brown hair was splayed across Erik’s pillow, playing at the edges of shade every time he turned his head. Erik reached out to touch it but his fingertips only traced the memory of where it had been.  
Every moment was a pause of things unsaid and silent intent. Every second which went by a promise of something more ardent to come.  
  
Hips clashed with hips; skin grazed skin; lips smashed into lips; eyes locking as hands pressed into each other. When Charles finally spoke it was breathless, wanton words falling from laboured lips. “Please,” was all he could manage. It was all Erik needed, hitching the smaller man up against his own hips, savouring the perfect strokes his body made as it stretched down the bed.  
  
Erik was insatiable where Charles was involved. His fingers dug into flesh and his teeth grazed at shadows on skin. Erik couldn’t help but take all of him, hard and rough. There was a whimper of reservation then a groan of acceptance from beneath him which only spurred him on. His muse was making him want to write poetry and paint pictures and sing songs and fuck like a warrior. He came fast and collapsed, spent, over the younger man. Charles traced lines through Erik’s blond hair, curling short locks between his fingers. “Thank you,” he offered, every sound he made became part of the symphony his words had begun to play in Erik’s head.  
  
Erik pressed a final kiss to the soft, pale skin behind Charles’ ear. He stayed still for a second, pressing hard, trying to give something back to him; trying to make him perfect again.


End file.
